I did it, I fell for the hype.
It is still beyond my comprehension how anyone could write a book targeted at precisely my demographic and title it “Fifty Shades of Grey.” Puleeeze. (I know, I know, it’s not referring to hair, on head or otherwise.)
Today even Amazon (hisssss) tried to get me to buy it, which was the last straw—and they were so spot on with their other picks!
I confess, I bought it (before, and not from Amazon). The buzz around this was louder than a hive of angry bees—all the major news sites, lit sites, blogs. It went viral in a big way, copies flying off the shelves. Number one on the NYT Bestseller list for paperbacks. My local bookstore (I trusted them, sigh) was featured in a NY Times article and booksellers all over were upping their orders.
Only later, and once I’d already shelled out some cash for the book, did I read some of the reviews which reflected my impression of it, which is meh meh meh.*
I dropped it, just couldn’t read it, something that doesn’t happen often to me. Not because anything in it offended me, as I am hard to offend, but because it’s just a dreadful read, packed with thrusts and moans and murmurs and “oh baby’s.” It reminded me of the time my friend and I wandered into a movie theatre in Spain only to find out that the film was not about what we thought (something innocent and pure, no doubt) but rather one that attracted a bunch of creepy old men who smelled like Ducados and cognac (eek, just thinking of it makes me wince). Cheap porn is one thing, cheap Spanish porn in those days was a thousand times worse.
Truly I’m not one to criticize another’s writing, but I feel a bit betrayed, offended, taken, as though somehow the attention to this novel was based not on the novel itself but on some marketing scheme, a conspiracy, or some other dark thing meant to insult my intelligence and tease the money from my pocket. I’m cynical, I know, but honestly I just don’t get it…the buzz, the hype, the press.
You want to read something? Read Carrie’s Story by Molly Weatherfield, or go back a bit and read Anne Rice’s “Beauty” series, something by Gaitskill or Diski or (yes, I admit, my reading in this genre is a bit outdated, but still).
*Clearly I will never be hired as a book reviewer…